


game? I’m not playing any games (unless you count the ones I play with beatrice)

by outeredges



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Jealousy, Lucifer and trixie are buds, Not Canon Compliant, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, chloe and marcus are dating but not engaged, not lucifer & trixies canon relationship at all but what I want them to be idc, only a little bit of angst, set in a nebulous s3 time, the inevitable angst because it’s lucifer, they hang out and stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:21:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22595464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outeredges/pseuds/outeredges
Summary: it’s just some mindless Lucifer and Trixie hanging out with some deckerstar thrown in, that’s it. that’s the fic.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Chloe Decker/Marcus Pierce, Trixie Decker & Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 10
Kudos: 238





	game? I’m not playing any games (unless you count the ones I play with beatrice)

The Detective’s spawn didn’t grate on Lucifer’s nerves as much as she used to. In his professional opinion, as far as children—nay, humans—went she was the best of the best. Despite her innocence and stupidity that sprung purely from being young, she was wise beyond her years and treated him like he… like he deserved to be loved. Obviously she broke his walls down, how could she not? She seemed to lack that complete mix of carnal fascination and fear that everybody else looked at him with. Perhaps it was a by-product of her mother’s divinity, or maybe it was something else entirely. Either way, he began to _care_ for the spawn. 

He began to spend more time with her, the Detective would have him babysit occasionally, he regularly attended Taco Tuesday, he picked her up from school more often than not, and he even bought them matching 3DS’s so they could play games together. 

(That was his secret shame that everybody knew but pretended they didn’t as not to invoke his embarrassment fueled rage.)

It was hard, though, to spend time with Beatrice when the Detective was dating Cain. He made it so hard for Lucifer to see her as he tried his best to keep the Devil out of their lives. He made do as best as he could, taking her out for lunch and picking her up from school—he absolutely relished the fact that Cain was _not_ on her list of approved adults—and connecting with her via the internet to play games. They had been playing a lot of something called _Minecraft_ recently, and Beatrice thought it was so funny when he was killed by zombies. 

In fact, he had decided to purchase her a brand new PS4 so she could play on something other than her mother’s tiny phone. 

“Good morning, Detective!” Lucifer greeted, chipper as ever. She looked radiant as ever. In true Lucifer fashion, he already began to enter the apartment before the Detective had even greeted him. 

“Lucifer, Wait!” she protested, moments too late as he already spotted Cain. 

_He_ and Beatrice were sitting at the dining table eating what looked to be scrambled eggs, but possibly could’ve been charred rocks, and Cain had the nerve to look at _him_ as if _he_ were intruding. How dare he? Lucifer had more of a right to be there than him, he was the Detective’s partner, and friend, and Beatrice adored him. Cain was just-he was just-dating the Detective. The thought turned the hot rage in his veins into an icy jealousy and resignation. 

“Oh,” he sighed, deflated and stopped dead in the water. 

Cain looked as if he was going to make a move, stand up and throw Lucifer out maybe, and he probably would’ve if Beatrice hadn’t made a flying leap at him with a laugh. 

“Lucifer!” she cried, a big toothy grin plastered across her face. 

He caught her easily despite the bag in his other hand, and he quickly set her down to stand on the chair. 

“Beatrice,” he said, “What have I told you? If you want to touch me, you have to wash your hands, or at the very least use a wet wipe. What is your stickiness level, on a scale of one to ten?”

She smiled at him sheepishly. “Three.”

“And you dared to touch my Prada with those fingers?” Lucifer scolded, but it was very obviously feigned and she giggled, “Now, go wash those hands, I’ve got a present for you.”

She nodded vigorously and ran to the toilet to wash her hands. Meanwhile, it appeared as if the Detective and Cain seemed to have gotten into some kind of quiet row. Tactlessly, he interrupted them with a poisoned smile, maybe letting his jealousy show just an eensy bit. 

“Trouble in paradise?” he asked. 

The Detective was going to say something, but Cain placed a hand on her chest and interrupted her (that very action alone almost had Lucifer break his hand, as if he had anything better to say than the Detective? He wasn’t even involved in the situation, Beatrice was her child, not his by any means). 

“You need to leave,” Cain said sternly. 

“Why-“ Lucifer started to say at the same time the Detective started talking, “Apologies, continue.”

“Thank you,” she nodded, “Marcus, Lucifer can stay. He’s Trixie’s friend, and besides. He can watch her while we go to the farmers’ market. That is okay with you, right?”

“Of course,” he said. 

“No way, absolutely not,” Cain shook his head, “I don’t know what your game is, Lucifer, but you need to leave Chloe and Trixie alone.”

“Game?” he asked innocently, “I’m not playing any _games._ Unless you count the ones I play with Beatrice. But surely _Mario Kart_ isn’t harmful. Although, it hasn’t taught her a lick about actually driving.”

And at the Detective’s glare of disapproval and slight anger, he quickly tacked on, “Which I have never, ever, let her do on the streets.”

Cain stared at him in shock. “Chloe, you seriously let this man around your daughter? He’s disgusting! You personally interviewed ninety two of his sexual partners a few months ago, and you let him touch her? He’s probably HIV positive.”

Oh, was that a low blow. Cain fully knew that Lucifer did _not_ contract any diseases, he was just trying to push his buttons and turn the Detective on him. 

“Marcus!” she practically yelped, “If he goes, you go.”

Anything he was going to retort with died on his tongue when a smiley Beatrice ran into the kitchen, changed out of her pajamas and into clothes for today. 

“I’m all clean!” she declared happily, raising her arms at Lucifer, “Not sticky at all.”

He rolled his eyes, but picked her up nonetheless. 

“What are you guys talking about?” she asked. 

“Marcus and I are going to go to the farmers’ market, okay?” the Detective said, the usual soft tone she used with her daughter in place, “Do you want Lucifer to watch you, or should I call Olga?”

“I want Lucifer to watch me,” she said with surety, and Lucifer didn’t hide the smug look on his face, “Are you going to get more jelly?”

“I can,” the Detective said, “Strawberry or raspberry?”

Beatrice hummed as she thought for a moment. “Surprise me.”

“Okay,” she nodded, “Marcus, let’s get going.”

Cain was still tense, his eyes trained on Lucifer and narrowed in scrutiny. “Alright, _babe,_ lets go.”

Beatrice must’ve sensed his anger because she curled her fingers tightly into the hair at the nape of his neck and buried her face into his chest, almost as if she could hug the turmoil out of him. Perhaps she could, for the longer she held, the easier his breathing got and the looser his chest felt. 

“I like you better for mommy,” she said long after Cain and the Detective had left. 

“What?” he asked, blinking in surprise. 

“Mr. Marcus is nice,” she explained, “But you make my mommy happier. I can tell, she laughs with her mouth open around you. And I think there’s something wrong with Mr. Marcus.”

He cocked his head in wonder. “What is wrong with Ca-Mr. Marcus?”

“He’s really mean!” Beatrice stage whispered.

Right then and there Lucifer decided that he would personally be killing Cain if he had done even a _modicum_ of harm towards Beatrice. 

“Beatrice,” he started slowly, “Has Mr. Marcus done anything to you?”

“No,” she violently shook her head in a way that always had him scared of Shaken Baby Syndrome, “He’s always nice to me and mommy, but he just seems mean, ya know? He reminds me of Sarah.”

“That’s the one who used to bully you, right?” that girl he had taken care of the first eye he met Beatrice. One look from his Devil face and a swift kick to the no-no touch-touch square had her running away screaming. 

“Yep,” she affirmed, “That’s why I don’t like Mr. Marcus. I like you much better.”

When did he become this? The Devil, God’s most powerful son, almost brought to tears by a little nine year old human. But how could he not? Here she was, giving him affection like it was candy—nay, easier than candy, the sweet tooth on Beatrice was immense—and treating him like he deserved loved. She was so innocent and defenseless that he couldn’t help but feel an intense need to protect her, keep her from harm at any cost. 

“Thank you, Beatrice,” he said softly.

She placed a fat, wet kiss to his cheek and he cringed in disgust. “Ugh. Spawn.”

“Sorry,” she apologized, but she didn’t look sorry at all. In fact, she had this big cheeky grin plastered to her face. 

He had this unspeakable urge to ruffle her hair, but he refrained. Suddenly, he remembered the reason that brought him to the Decker household in the first place. “Beatrice! I nearly forgot, I brought you a gift.”

“Really?” she gasped, “What did you get me? Chocolate cake?”

“No,” he said, “I did some googling and I found out that _this_ is the best thing to play games on.”

Lucifer handed her the bag and her squeal was near deafening. No doubt it could be heard in the Silver City and Hell alike. 

“A PS4!?!” she cried, “Thank you, thank you, thank you! Oh my gosh this is so cool!” 

She quickly hugged Lucifer’s legs before grabbing the bag and running to the living room, “Let’s set it up!” 

And so he and Beatrice spent quite a large amount of time setting up the PS4 and downloading several games for her to play. They tested a bunch of them, and she was quite fond of _Rocket League,_ even though he thought it was simply absurd that a car would be used to play soccer with. Still, he had a nice time, even if her laughs were mostly at his expense as he tried—and failed—to control his car. 

“You’re trying to get the ball in the goal,” she explained, “You have to use your car to hit it.” 

He sighed in exasperation and threw his hands up. “Well, that’s what I’m trying to do!”

“Are you sure?” she teased, and he looked at her, offended. 

“Wh-yes I am sure, this game is just backwards!” he protested, “Cars playing soccer… I mean, you humans, why on Earth would that make a fun game?”

Beatrice just rolled her eyes and scored another goal against him. “Practice makes perfect, Lucifer. Have patience young grasshopper.”

Lucifer stifled a smile and continued to play with her. 

By the time the Detective got home, it was nearing four in the afternoon, and Beatrice had finally tired of laughing at Lucifer. As it turned out, they both became quite famished in their vigorous gameplay, so he decided to make them some supper. 

“What would you like for supper?” he asked, searching through the kitchen cabinets and fridge. 

The Detective really did keep it dismally stocked, there wasn’t even any truffle oil. He must get them a shopper; he put it on his mental, non sexual, to do list. 

“Peanut butter toast,” she said with the kind of decisiveness only a child could have. When you don’t know much, it’s not hard to be certain about things. 

“Seriously?” he groaned, “If you could have anything to eat right now, you would choose peanut butter toast?”

She hummed and thought very hard for a moment. “No. Peanut butter _banana_ toast.”

“Ah,” Lucifer raised an eyebrow, “An old friend of mine, once, he too enjoyed peanut butter and banana, but he would make it on a sandwich. He enjoyed it so much they even named it after him.”

“Your friend had a sandwich named after him?” she asked, star struck, “That’s so cool! Who was it?”

“Elvis,” he said, and Beatrice began to giggle. 

“You’re funny,” she said, “Can you make me an Elvis?”

“Of course,” he agreed. 

Lucifer quickly got to work, regaling Beatrice with the stories he held so dear to his heart about Mr. Presley. He was the one who introduced Lucifer to rock and roll, after all, and rock and roll soon became one of his great loves. Not only that, technically Lucifer was the one who had first made ‘The Elvis’, as a prank of course. Bacon and peanut butter and bananas ... absolutely absurd, just imagine his surprise when the chap _loved_ it.

Beatrice loved his stories, laughing even harder than her mother would at his antics. It stretched into him just telling her stories about _everything,_ things he hadn’t dared to talk about in millennia, even. 

“And, I swear on everything, Beatrice, I was _not_ responsible for Pompeii,” he swore up and down, “I was on _vacation_ and there happened to be a volcanic eruption, it honestly was quite unfortunate-“

He was interrupted by the door slamming open and Cain staring at the pair. The situation was oddly reminiscent of the morning when Lucifer did the same thing. However, he hoped he didn’t look that ruffled. 

“What are you two doing?” he asked, eyes narrowed. 

“Lucifer made sandwiches,” Beatrice answered brightly.

The Detective appeared in the doorway moments later and she flashed the pair the biggest smile. Her trademark smile that had Lucifer’s knees feeling like jelly and his stomach full of bricks; he swore up and down that her smile could end wars with how warm it had him feeling. It was one he hadn’t been on the receiving end of in a long while, and it would appear he hadn’t realized how much he missed it until now. Even if she was probably smiling only at her spawn. 

“Detective!” he greeted brightly, giving her a toothy grin, “How are you doing? How was the market?” 

She strode in and placed a kiss to the top of Beatrice’s head. “Grace told me to say hi and that she’s sorry she missed you.” 

“Ah,” he nodded, “She’s a dear, I’m terribly sorry I missed her as well. Was Diana there?”

“Yep,” the Detective responded, “She was out of salsa though, by the time I got there.” 

Lucifer frowned. “How unfortunate. I’ll call and ask if she could whip up a batch, you can’t go this week without it.”

Before, she would’ve protested and denied his offer, but she’s known him long enough to know that he would do it anyways, so she thanked him with a smile. 

“Mommy, try this sandwich, Lucifer made it for me,” Beatrice offered her mother the last few bites of the sandwich that had been sitting on her plate for quite some time. 

“Mmm, is that an Elvis?” she asked, and Lucifer nodded. 

“Yep, you know I actually created the Elvis,” he threw in, “The trick is to get very thin cuts of bacon.” 

The Detective’s response died on her lips when Cain cleared his throat aggressively. He still stood awkwardly in the doorway, and Lucifer felt violated by the unwanted voyeur. The way he was in the confines of the Detective’s home and when he was with her spawn…he wasn’t comfortable with anyone else seeing that kind of softness from him, least of all Cain. He was truly diabolical, and despite all his claims of caring for the Detective, he wouldn’t put it past him to go on and hurt her or Beatrice to get back at Lucifer in some way. After all, he did kill his own brother. 

“Come on in, don’t just stand there,” the Detective waved him in and he respectfully complied. 

With very mechanical motions, he very began to unload the few bags that they brought back from the market.

“Ah, fruit goes in the fridge,” Lucifer corrected innocently, forgetting himself. 

The Detective didn’t say anything about his correction, for she was sitting next to Beatrice and engaged in a conversation with her. Cain gave him this murderous look before trying to catch the Detective’s eye, but failing miserably. 

“Chloe, where does the fruit go?” he asked slowly. 

“The fridge,” she called over her shoulder, “Lucifer can show you where.” 

Lucifer gave Cain his cheekiest, most violent, smile and joined him in the kitchen. At least the Detective trusted him, still tried her best to include him. If she were truly Cain’s, she would’ve let him kick him out earlier, but she hadn’t. Instead, she stood her ground and let him stay and threatened to kick Cain out. _That_ was the Detective he knew, not the mere shell of a woman that’s been glued to Cain’s side the past few weeks. 

“Small fruits go in this drawer,” Lucifer instructed, loading some tomatoes into the fruit drawer, “Cantaloupes, however, go up here.” 

“What’s your game here, Lucifer?” Cain asked, voice low as not to arouse any suspicion from the Detective or Beatrice. 

“Like I told you before,” he replied, “I have no game. I simply enjoy spending time with the Detective and her spawn. We are partners, after all, and friends.” 

Cain rolled his eyes. “You _were_ her partner. She and I are partners now. She doesn’t need you, Trixie doesn’t need you. You can go back to your days of debauchery and partying.” 

“But I don’t…” he trailed off, “She does-she does need me. You don’t even know where her groceries go.” 

It was a lame attempt at humor, but Lucifer was also trying to stay unaffected by Cain’s comment. Was he right? Did the Detective really not need him anymore? She never really did need him, not to do her job, but as a friend she did. While he had been mostly joking when he made that comment so many years ago about a beautiful friendship starting once they became partners, he truly did mean it. She had been a pariah, isolating herself and now she had all these friends. Lucifer wouldn’t say it’s only because of him, for the Detective was incredible and that was why she had her friends, but he liked to think he helped bring her out of her shell a bit. 

“I’m a fast learner,” Cain assured him, “She doesn’t need you. She doesn’t want you, you may as well-“

“Lucifer!” the Detective called from the other look room, “Come here, now!”

Despite the fact that she sounded upset with him, he was by her side in seconds. 

“Yes, Detective,” he said. 

“Where did this PS4 come from?” she asked, eyes narrowed. 

Oh. He forgot to run this present by her, and ever since the doll incident he always did. 

“Well, I was going to ask you if it’s okay, swear,” he said, “But then the Lieutenant tried to kick me out and I truly just forgot. My sincere apologies, Detective, but the spawn does love it.”

Beatrice gave the Detective puppy dog eyes. “Mom, can I _please_ keep it? Pretty please? I promise I’ll be good.”

“Hmm. Okay, monkey,” she agreed, “ _But,_ you have to clean your room and do your homework before you use it. Deal?”

“Deal!” Beatrice threw her arms around her mother's neck, “Thank you, mommy!”

The Detective laughed and hugged her daughter. “You should really be thanking Lucifer.”

“She already did,” he said, “You’ve trained your spawn well.” 

“Thanks, I think,” she said. 

Cain was still lurking, intruding, and Lucifer felt too weak, too vulnerable. As much as he lo—enjoyed the Detective’s company and staying in her home, the other man’s presence was too much, and combined with his relation to the Detective… it made him angry and terrifyingly numb at the same time. Just as he had after the fall. 

So he excused himself. “Now, it has been a wonderful afternoon, but I really must be going.”

“Nooo!” Beatrice whined, grabbing his hand, “I wanted to do a family dinner tonight! I even texted daddy and Maze!” 

“Oh,” he gave her a sympathetic smile, “I’m sorry, Beatrice, but I have business elsewhere…and besides, you can still do family dinner without me.”

“No, we can’t,” she insisted, looking near tears. 

Lucifer gave the Detective a panicked look, something that said _please help me I don’t know what I would do if I made your offspring cry_ but without actually saying anything. 

“How about we do family dinner next week?” the Detective suggested, “Then you and Lucifer can go shopping and cook for us too.” 

Beatrice softened at her suggestion and the tears welling up disappeared. “Okay.” 

Lucifer patted the spawn on the head and exited the apartment with a simple wave in the Detective’s direction and a glare at Cain.

  
——

It wasn’t often that Lucifer felt unwelcome somewhere, but this afternoon at the Detective’s he felt Cain’s icy glare in his very mortal bones. The other man used his eons of manipulation and torture and directed it at _Lucifer_ , the man he called a friend not too many weeks ago. No, he directed it at Lucifer, the Devil. Had it not been for the Detective and her spawn, he would’ve shown him why he was the one who haunted stories across time, why he was the King of Hell. 

He took another drink from the bourbon bottle and grumbled to himself. When had it all gone so wrong? Or had it always been wrong and he hadn’t noticed? No… that wasn’t right. The Detective had cared about him at some point, he wasn’t wrong about that. 

The elevator let out a sharp _ding!_ as it signaled its arrival to his penthouse and he froze in his place. Hadn’t he told Patrick to not let anyone through? He was far too busy brooding to bother being interrupted by anyone, and either his employees were going soft or-

“Lucifer!” Beatrice cried, lines of worry marring her face. 

She ran up to him and hugged him, and he barely managed to return it in his shock. Why was Beatrice here? Certainly the Detective must be worried sick about her. 

“Does your mother know you’re here?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Well, that won’t do, let me just text your mother to let her know you’re...here…” he trailed off and studied the girl, “Beatrice, is everything okay?” 

And again, she shook her head, a frightfully upset expression plastered to her face. 

“What’s wrong?” Lucifer asked, patting the seat next to him. She hopped up and fiddled with her fingers nervously. 

“Mommy and Marcus are fighting,” she said, “It’s really loud and scary, and it reminds me of when my mommy and daddy used to fight but worse. Marcus is a very angry person, he really doesn’t like you.”

Lucifer simply hummed in response, and Beatrice kept going. “He doesn’t like that you and my mommy are friends, he doesn’t like that me and you are friends. I don’t know _why_ though, he keeps saying you’re dangerous, but you’re not! You’re the Devil, but you’re not dangerous.”

“You believe me?” 

“Of course, you said you never lie and I saw Maze’s other face,” Beatrice said as if it were so simple, “I thought it was a mask at first, but I realized that was silly because she hadn’t brought a mask with her trick or treating. _Then,_ I remembered that she said she was a demon.” 

Lucifer stared at the little girl, dumbfounded. He forgot how children were, how they saw the truth better than anyone despite being mislabeled as ‘naive’ and ‘stupid’ by bitter adults who were unwilling to see the truth. And the truth was, Beatrice Espinoza knew he was the Devil and chose to care about him anyways. What was that saying about a child’s love? It had been eons since he felt like this, since the Silver City and he would play with his little sister Azrael and dance among the stars with her while she clapped in glee as he caused supernovas and birthed new stars with a wave of his hand. 

“Beatrice…” he said softly, “Thank you.”

“For what?” she asked, so innocent, not truly understanding the gravity of her words. 

“For believing me,” he said, “Did you know that I have a little sister?” 

“You have a little sister?” Beatrice gasped, “No way! What’s her name?”

“Azrael,” he said, unable to help the fond smile that found its way onto his face, “She was far younger than I, but smart as a whip. She was very clever, but also incredibly compassionate.”

“Why don’t you talk about her ever?” she asked, “I don’t know any of your siblings, except Amenadiel.” 

Lucifer laughed a little. “Ah, and that’s the worst one. All righteous and what not. But besides Amenadiel, I haven’t seen any of my siblings since I left.” 

“You should call her,” she said, “Maybe I could meet her too, then.”

“Maybe,” he mused, “You really are a lot like her, it’s uncanny sometimes.” 

“What does uncanny mean?” she inquired, this adorable look of curiosity on her face. 

“Oh, uncanny means strange or mysterious,” he explained, “Often in an unfamiliar or unsettling way.”

“Uncanny,” she repeated, “So, like it’s uncanny that my mommy likes Marcus?” 

Lucifer was embarrassed by the bark of laughter, but truly he couldn’t help himself. Sometimes he forgot about how witty Beatrice could be without even trying, and after spending so much time with him and Maze, she was only getting cheekier and more clever. 

“You’re a funny one,” he laughed, “Has anybody ever told you that?” 

“My friends say I’m funny,” she said with a smile. 

He took another sip of his bourbon and returned her smile. “Yes, well, they’re right.” 

“What are you drinking?” she asked after barely a moment of silence. 

“Bourbon,” Lucifer replied simply. 

“Can I have some or it is alcohol?” Beatrice asked. 

“Unfortunately, I think your mother would have my head for giving you bourbon,” he answered, “And sadly, I have nothing to offer you right now.” 

“That’s okay,” she said, “I just didn’t want to be at home. I don’t like yelling.” 

Lucifer nodded in understanding because, in a way, he too was a child of divorce. “Do not forget that the fighting isn’t your fault, there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Just don’t lock your mother in a cell for eternity, that is my advice.”

“I won’t,” she promised with a little giggle. 

“And, I’ll have to tell your mother that you’re here,” he said, “She must be worried sick.” 

“Okay,” she said, “Wait! I have something to show you!”

Excitedly, Beatrice hopped off her stool and sat at the piano. She tapped some keys experimentally and a harsh, jilted, _Twinkle Twinkle Little Star_ began to fill the room. 

“Very good,” he complimented, “I’ll be with you in just a minute, let me text your mother first.” 

Lucifer pulled out his phone and began to draft a message to the Detective.

**_👧🏻🚕➡️🏤🎼😈_ **

_Thank god. I was worried sick about her. When did she leave?_

**_🕵️♀️❗️‼️🔊‼️❗️👮♂️. ❌😧👧🏻🎼🎹. 😈👀👧🏻._ **

_Okay. Thank you for watching her. I’m omw. See u in 20._

_😈👍_

With a sigh, he placed his phone back into his pocket and joined Beatrice at the piano. She was still painstakingly making her way through _Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,_ but working with a determination that was hitherto unmatched. 

“Did you teach yourself this?” he asked. 

“Yep!” she said proudly, “Do you like it? We don’t have a piano at home so I practice on my iPad.” 

Lucifer never lied, but, contrary to popular belief, he knew he shouldn't be a dick to a child. “I think you’re doing great with your experience, but you should keep practicing. Lots, and lots of practice. Would you like me to show you?” 

“Yes,” she nodded enthusiastically. 

Lucifer then began to explain what a note was, how to read sheet music, and started her on her path to fully learning _Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,_ and many other classics. By the time the Detective arrived, she was playing like a real pro. 

“Trixie, babe, I was worried sick,” the Detective exclaimed, wrapping her child up in a tight hug. “What have I said about leaving the house by yourself?” 

“I’m sorry, mommy,” she apologized, and at least she had the decency to look upset, “But you and Mr. Marcus scared me with your yelling. He was getting really mad.”

The Detective nodded. “I know, baby, I’m sorry. He was just upset about some things, but I sent him home. Don’t worry, he’s not at the house anymore. He won’t ever be at the house anymore.” 

Lucifer immediately perked up. She didn’t mean… did they break up? He was scared to inquire her, as they have kind of been on the outs as of late. Not for any particular reason other than the fact that Cain was successfully ousting the devil from her life. 

“Did you guys break up?” Beatrice asked. Whereas she had the decency to look sorry before, she did nothing to mask her million watt smile now. 

“Yeah,” the Detective nodded, “We did.” 

It seemed that she noticed Lucifer’s surprise asthma attack or...or whatever had his breathing all funny and his chest tight, because she glanced at him before crouching back down by Beatrice. 

“Hey, stay here and practice for a little bit, I’m going to go talk to Lucifer in the kitchen,” she said. 

Beatrice nodded happily and gave Lucifer a thumbs up as the Detective had to practically drag him to the kitchen because he was dead on his feet. 

“You know after all this time you don’t have to be a dick,” she sighed, “I get it, laugh it up.” 

Lucifer was startled out of his asthma— _panic_ —attack and he tried to get control of his breathing. Deep breaths, he focused on deep breaths, and even though he couldn’t feel his nerves calming, his breathing got under control and he wasn’t choking for air anymore. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, breathless and chest heaving, “What?” 

The Detective regarded him with worry. “Lucifer, are you okay?” 

“Yes,” he nodded, “Just having some trouble, breathing.”

A few more deep breaths and he was calmed, well, calmed enough to have full control of his air, it did nothing to stop his hands from shaking a heart from beating erratically. 

“Hey,” she said softly, placing a hand on his arm, “What’s wrong?” 

Honestly? He had no clue. Hearing that the Detective had broken up with Cain should’ve overjoyed him, but instead a deep sense of anxiety was instilled in his very bones. Perhaps it was the underlying fear that Cain had—or would—exposed him in all his Devil-hood, or that Cain was enacting some horrible plan to hurt the Detective and her family. Or, and certainly the most terrifying, or that the Detective being free to choose now would only end in a harsh rejection. A definite and true rejection would certainly bring his fall, a hundred times harder than his fall from grace. 

“I’m handling it,” he answered instead of any of those terrifying truths. 

“Right,” she nodded passive aggressively, “Thanks for the truth. Always the truth with you, doesn’t matter how much you twist it up to work in your favor. Did you know that omission is still lying?” 

“I just don’t-“ he faltered, “Detective, it is not your responsibility to bear the burden of my worries and anxieties.” 

The Detective rolled her eyes. “No shit, Lucifer. But you’re my partner and I want to be there for you. What’s wrong?”

“The break up, was it amicable?” he asked quickly, “Did it seem like Cain would come back and hurt you? Or-“

“By Cain you mean? Pierce, right?” she asked back and he nodded in response, “He broke up with me, actually. He said...he said he didn’t want me anymore, that nobody does. So, no, I don’t think there’s any threat of revenge.”

Lucifer gasped sharply, anxiety replaced by a gentle rage. “He did not say that about _you.”_

“It’s fine,” she shook her head and placed a hand on his chest, “It was obviously him trying to manipulate me into begging for him to stay and to agree to his terms.”

“But to _lie_ such as that,” he practically hissed, “That human stain should be so _lucky_ to be graced by your presence for mere _seconds._ To say that nobody wants you? That is...that is near blasphemous.” 

The Detective laughed a little. “You can dial it back a notch, don’t worry, I’m not hurt. You don’t have to do this.” 

“Do what?” he asked innocently, as innocently as possible when masking boiling rage, “This is no mere act, Detective, do not be mistaken. I do not preserve people’s feelings, if I truly found you undesirable I’d sooner spit in your face than kiss the ground you walk upon. No, you, Detective, are special. Blessed upon this Earth by my father, still achingly human, but somehow more divine than I… you are everything. You’re so much more than the stars I so delicately hung.”

Had it been any other night, had he not been feeling so achingly soft and somehow jagged and broken, had the Detective not been standing here looking the picture of divinity, he never would’ve said these things in a million years. 

“I’m sure you wax poetry at all the girls,” she mumbled. 

He shook his head. “Just you. Always you.”

The Detective took a shaky breath and closed her eyes for a brief moment. He wanted to hold her. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not seeing you,” she said, “For not seeing how you’ve always been there for me, for Trixie.”

“That’s quite alright,” Lucifer said. It wasn’t a lie nor and omission but the whole truth. 

“No, it’s not,” she shook her head, “You deserve better than how I’ve been treating you. I knew how me being with Marcus affected you, but I stayed with him anyways because I was scared and blind to see what was right in front of me. _You.”_

She stood on her tip toes and placed a kiss on his forehead. 

“Detective,” he whispered. 

“This isn’t the start of anything official,” she said in the same hushed tone, “I still need time to sort through everything, but the way I see it, you and I are inevitable. We’ve spent enough time dancing around it, I think it’s time we start to enjoy the ride.”

He gave her an inquisitive look. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she said, “I like you. I want you, will you go to dinner with me?”

“Yes,” he rushed out with a breath, so quick he hadn’t even the time to worry about seeming desperate. 

He _was_ desperate. 

“Yay!” Beatrice squealed, running into the kitchen and jumping up to hug her mother, “I knew you could do it, Mommy! He’s liked you for _so_ long.”

Chloe caught her with a groan and she laughed with Beatrice. “You little rat! You really couldn’t have said anything?”

“He told me not to!” Beatrice giggled, and her mother gasped.

“Lucifer!” she scolded, “Did you talk about me to my daughter?”

“She noticed, truly! She asked me!” he held his hands up in defense, “You know I don’t lie.”

Chloe looked between the pair in shock. “So, you both sat there and did nothing while I dated a jack-hole. Jack hole. I said jack hole.”

“I tried to tell you,” Lucifer said.

“And you told me to not meddle in your life,” Beatrice added. 

Chloe glared. “I hate you both.”

“No you don’t,” they said in unison with the same cheeky grin (seriously, why did she think it was a good idea to let them hang out and get close?). 

“You’re right,” she said with a smile, “I don’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not gonna lie, that whole thing flew out of me, and I know I’m late to the party, but I’ve watched lucifer twice since october and I’m obsessed.


End file.
